


Authority Issues

by saturdayghost



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom John Murphy (The 100), Degradation, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dom Bellamy Blake, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rough Oral Sex, Slut Shaming, Top Bellamy Blake, Verbal Humiliation, a little plot as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturdayghost/pseuds/saturdayghost
Summary: I wanted to write Bellamy slapping someone around. I wrote Bellamy slapping someone around.All characters are of age ofc, at the beginning of s1 I think Murphy is 17? So this is post s1 I guess but there’s really no plot relevance in any of it(Frequent use of sl*t and wh*re, I tagged homophobia because Bellamy says f*ggot one(1) time but that’s really the only homophobia)Please do not repost my work anywhere without my knowledge+consent
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Kudos: 22





	Authority Issues

**Author's Note:**

> I would like Bellamy Blake to raw me. Anyways
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated! This is my first work I’m posting, I’m nervous. If a request inspires me I could write it. Or not. Depends on how inspiring it is.

Murphy’s arms were so sore he felt they were about to fall off. He’d been enlisted to help build a shelter to store items that were sensitive to the elements: food mainly, he assumed. Anything more important than that people just kept under their pillow. Unfortunately, this meant he was stuck holding various heavy metal sheets in place for hours now, standing feet planted propping it upright and it was uncomfortably humid and-

“Murphy! Stop leaning to the left. What part of ‘upright’ don’t you understand?”

...And Bellamy was yelling at him every two seconds about how he was leaning too far or not holding steady or some other bullshit he couldn’t be bothered to care about anymore. Murphy swears that he was singling him out specifically, either that or apparently everyone else in camp was wildly better at being a support beam. Murphy readjusts, removing one hand from the wall to shake out his aching fingers and get some blood flowing back to it. It seemed like they were in the final stretch. Murphy wondered-

Bellamy grabbed his wrist with predatory accuracy. Murphy’s breath stopped.

“Do you think this is going to get done any faster with you half-assing it?” Bellamy, speaking a little bit too close to his ear, standing a little bit too much in his space. “Because I don’t recall telling you to let go, Murph.”

Murphy didn’t flinch, but he felt the anger repressed inside him stoke. “I didn’t realize stretching my arm went against your control freak needs, I’m sorry,” he let some venom enter his voice, “Sir.”

Bellamy placed Murphy’s hand up against the sheet metal, fingers digging into his forearm so hard it hurt. “If you find the task of standing still and holding something too intellectually challenging, I’m sure I can find a spot for you digging latrines,” he growled. His boot roughly kicks Murphy’s ankle, spreading his stance wider and making him feel exponentially more vulnerable. Bellamy’s chest was level with his shoulder blade now, and it pressed just a little closer, brushing up against him so briefly, just reminding Murphy of where he was, who he was dealing with. Murphy struggled to steady his breathing, sure that Bellamy could hear it and would take advantage of even the slightest crack in his demeanor. “If you placed your feet farther apart you wouldn’t lean as much. Creates a stronger base,” he lowly advised, letting go of Murphy’s wrist and finally stepping away.

“Yes, sir,” Murphy replied, monotone, guarded. He was gripping the edge of the wall so tight it hurt the tendons of his arm, he knew that if he didn’t Bellamy would see his hands shaking and realize just how much of a facade his tough talk was. Murphy breathes deeply, settles himself firmly on the ground, and prays to god he doesn’t fuck up again. He swears that whenever Bellamy’s gaze lingers on him he can feel it boring into the nape of his neck.

• • •

The sun hadn’t set before the shelter was finished, but it was still another hour before Murphy was finally able to take a real moment and work his sore limbs. He uses one hand to pull the other elbow up parallel to the vertical line of his torso, stretching his lats along with the stiff shoulder joint, feeling satisfied when he hears a small pop and doing the same for the other side of his body. He didn’t want to be the first to leave, but when the group started to disperse towards the bonfire where the day’s catch was roasting, he assumed Bellamy had given the go-ahead to clock out. Murphy picked up his coat, lying discarded on the ground because of the heat, and started to walk away from the newly constructed building.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Murphy jumped more than he was comfortable admitting.

“Let’s have a talk.” Bellamy’s timbre suggests an order, not an option. He turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the new storehouse, obviously expecting Murphy to follow. Murphy hates that he does. After they’re both inside the structure, Bellamy drags the makeshift wooden door three-quarters of the way shut, enough to allow light in(but not enough to allow anyone glancing over a view of inside). The constant ball of anxiety sitting at the bottom of Murphy’s stomach grew one size. Fuck.

Bellamy’s hands are placed in the front pockets of his pants, purposefully standing between Murphy and the door, silently observing him standing two arm’s lengths away. Murphy refuses to make eye contact, unfocusing his stare into one of the dim corners. After a few moments he silence becomes deafening, and he finally glances up at Bellamy’s face.

Bellamy’s head tilts to the side. “There you go. Look at me when I talk to you.” His jaw flexes lightly, taking a slow, confident step forwards. “Now, do you want to explain how you think the way you spoke to me earlier today was in any way acceptable?” Murphy straightens his spine but doesn’t respond. There’s a quiet beat. Bellamy removes his hands from his pockets, hooking one thumb into a belt loop. “That’s really interesting, because you were so talkative earlier.” He takes a second step closer. “Really strange how that works. How the people who run their mouth the most never seem to want to back it up.” Another step. They’re a foot apart now.

“Says the guy who can’t go more than two seconds without asserting his alpha male bullshit because he’s so deep into his power trip.” Murphy retorts.

Bellamy’s arm reaches out and he rests his hand on the wall beside Murphy’s head, and Murphy suddenly realizes that he’s much more literally cornered than he was a minute ago.

“I don’t think that’s the case, Murph. I think you have some authority issues.” Murphy quietly reaches for his pants pocket before realizing his knife was in his coat. He places his palms on the wall behind him, to ground himself more than anything else. “What do you think, Murphy? Do you think you have some authority issues you need to,” Bellamy pauses, “work out?”

Murphy’s mind was going at a million miles an hour. Bellamy’s intruded even deeper into his personal space and he is so much more aware of his presence; his scent, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the way that his right knee was currently barely connecting with Murphy’s left and there’s no way that level of contact should be affecting him this much. He’s shaken out of his thoughts when Bellamy grabs his hair and pulls unforgivingly, angling Murphy’s gaze into his.

“I asked you a direct question, Murphy.” Bellamy’s voice has gotten an edge that it didn’t have before, and Murphy can hear his heart is pounding in his ears. He wants an answer. He’s not even sure he can talk at all, let alone being able to make his voice sound composed.

“I think you need to accept that not everyone wants to worship the ground you walk on, Blake,” Murphy’s voice shakes a little at the end when he addresses Bellamy so dismissively, but he knows at least his face doesn’t betray his insecurity. Hopefully.

Bellamy’s gaze hardens and Murphy recognizes that as a warning a fraction of a second before he’s thrown to the ground, Bellamy pushing him to get him off balance and yanking him down by his hair. Murphy takes the brunt of the impact in his shoulder, and scrambles to find his footing before he feels the sole of a boot on the small of his back, Bellamy placing a little bit too much of his weight onto Murphy’s prone body. He struggles but can’t get up. Oh shit.

“That’s your problem,” Bellamy states, “You can’t seem to give anyone in this camp an ounce of respect.” He shifts so his knee is on Murphy’s back and grabs the hair at the crown of his head, pulling his face off the dirt and his neck into an uncomfortable angle. “Do you feel that the rules don’t apply to you? Do you think you’re special? Because I’ve got news,” Bellamy’s knee grinds down harder, “you’re not.”

Murphy’s breathing is labored, frantically trying to read if Bellamy was actually going to seriously hurt him. It’s happened before. Fortunately, the man pinning him down keeps talking.

“I’ll ask you again,” Bellamy continues, “do you think the way you spoke to me earlier was acceptable?” The pregnant pause left in the air weighs down on Murphy even more than Bellamy does.

“No, sir,” Murphy acquiesces.

“Why was it unacceptable?” Bellamy pushes.

“Bec-” Murphy’s cut off by a sharp yank to his hair. “Because it’s disrespectful to your authority.” Pause. The grip on his hair becomes unbearable for a moment, until Murphy quickly adds, “Sir,” with a choked breath.

“My authority,” Bellamy repeats, breath hitting the back of Murphy’s neck, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He tugs Murphy’s hair one last time for emphasis before letting go, standing up and running a hand through his own curls. Murphy unsteadily rises, brushing the dirt off his clothes before he notices Bellamy staring at him. He follows his gaze before he realizes that in his panic somehow he became hard.

“O-oh, uh, f-” Murphy untucks his shirt in an attempt to appear less obvious, but Bellamy’s clearly already noticed, smirking while reasoning with this new ammo.

“Wow, you really are pathetic,” he belittles, Murphy becoming more anxious by the second. “Guess daddy wasn’t around long enough, huh? You get off to guys roughing you around?” 

Murphy wants to respond no, fuck no, fuck you, but he can’t seem to find any words, let alone expletives.

There’s a realization in Bellamy’s eyes. “Is that why you’re such an insufferable dick to everyone within five feet of you? To me? You just want someone to put you in your place? Make you their bitch?” Murphy’s heart rate has to be in an unhealthy range by now. Bellamy steps into his personal space yet again, not touching, just observing his facial expressions.

Murphy is dumbstruck. He tries his hardest to string a sentence together but still only can offer “I don’t...you...uh, h-how...” while Bellamy just keeps staring. He looks down at Bellamy’s hands and sees his fingers twitching imperceptibly, back up and he can see his jaw clench and unclench. There’s a slight pink on his neck, and when he looks in Bellamy’s eyes his pupils are just a little wider. His breathing is even, but the breaths he’s taking are deeper.

Wait. Fuck.

Is Bellamy into this?

Murphy had just thought it was the man’s ego that made him so violent, but was it possible that it was more than just that when it came to him? Was he getting something out of this?

He realizes they’ve been standing in silence while he’s frantically processed all of this information. He makes eye contact with Bellamy again.

Bellamy slowly reaches his hand up and cups Murphy’s jaw. Not gripping, just cradling. Potential energy waiting to be released.

“You want this?” His fingers tense ever so slightly, placing pressure on the back of his neck. Bellamy’s not blocking the exit anymore, the two of them standing parallel. Murphy can leave.

He doesn’t.

Murphy gives a small, shaky, nod. He wants this.

Bellamy takes a deeper breath. The fingers tighten more. Almost a painful hold. He looks wired. “Look at me when I speak to you,” Bellamy orders, Murphy complying immediately.

“I asked you a question.”

Murphy’s head is almost swimming.

“Yes sir,” he answers.

The hand immediately bears down on his cheek, slapping his face with an open palm. Murphy stumbles, but doesn’t fall, catching himself against the wall while attempting to process that this was really happening. Bellamy strides over, caging him against the sheet metal with his body. It’s closer than before, his knee slotted between Murphy’s legs and his forearm above Murphy’s head. Murphy lets out a small whine before he can stop himself, unable to relieve the pressure being placed on his dick by Bellamy’s thigh. Grabbing Murphy’s hair in a fist for the second time this afternoon, Bellamy pulls his head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. He mouths at the skin there, grazing with his teeth but never hard enough to leave a bruise.

He pulls off and his voice is almost a growl in Murphy’s ear.

“Get on your fucking knees or I swear to god I will beat you bloody.”

He removes his leg from Murphy’s crotch and Murphy immediately sinks to the ground, hand still in his hair as he becomes eye level with Bellamy’s fly. Oh. Okay, Bellamy’s for sure enjoying this on the same level he is. Murphy looks up at Bellamy from his position with a questioning gaze.

Bellamy deliberately nudges his boot against Murphy’s knees, spreading them until he’s able to lightly place it onto his crotch. Specifically, his dick. Murphy’s brow knits together and his hands instinctively snap to Bellamy’s shoe, which is received by a yank to his hair.

“Put your hands on your ankles,” Bellamy orders. Murphy complies.

He pushes down a little harder with his toe. “If you want me to stop, I will,” Bellamy continues, a slightly softer tone on this statement. Murphy nods, mind hazy. Bellamy flicks his ear. “Use your words.”

Murphy blinks slowly. “Yes sir,” he replies once he’s able to work through it. Bellamy smiles condescendingly.

“Aw, dumb slut can’t even think straight once he gets some attention. This all you want? You wanna hump my shoe like a dog until you get off?” The pressure becomes more intense, making Murphy buck his hips upward. He can’t help but groan at the friction.

Bellamy slaps his face again, the other side this time. Murphy’s mouth falls open and his breathing has become noticeably uneven, eyes hooded and cheeks red. He looks up at Bellamy with an unfocused gaze, confused as to why he did that. He just wants to be good for him, that’s all he wants right now but it’s driving him fucking insane that he can’t touch his dick.

“So stupid just from my boot,” Bellamy chides. “You want to be my bitch so bad, don’t you? You’ll just take anything I give you.” He’s running his fingers through Murphy’s hair now, and it’s making Murphy embarrassingly more desperate than anything that happened prior.

“God please Bell-” A painful pull to Murphy’s hair, “ah, please sir I just wanna be good for you I swear please-” He’s cut off when Bellamy puts a thumb up to his lips and suddenly that’s all he cares about and his mind glazes over. When Bellamy’s prodding the inside of his cheek, Murphy slowly laves his tongue against the digit and Bellamy hums lowly in appreciation.

“I bet you suck dick so pretty, fuck,” Bellamy groans. “You ever sucked dick before, Murph?” Murphy pauses for a beat, then hesitantly nods his head yes in response. Bellamy removes his thumb from Murphy’s mouth and he lets out a soft protest, but then Bellamy holds his chin between his fingertips and tilts his head upward and Murphy feels content just looking up at him.

“Do you wanna suck my cock, Murphy?” Bellamy offers. Murphy nods. Bellamy moves his boot away and uses his grip on Murphy’s jaw to shake his head around, not satisfied. Murphy’s vision focuses a bit and he makes eye contact with Bellamy.

“Yeah, y-yes, yes please sir” Murphy stutters.

Bellamy smiles, hands leaving Murphy’s face to undo his fly and Murphy whines, pressing his cheek into Bellamy’s thigh. When he does pull his dick out Murphy pauses.

“Can...can I use my hands?” He meekly asks.

Bellamy pets his hair. “Oh, that’s good. Yes, yes you can.”

Murphy spits on his palm and slowly strokes Bellamy from base to tip. He was never good at estimating measurements, and hadn’t handled that many dicks in his lifetime, but it was about the same as his, and a past girlfriend had said he had a big dick. This was thicker maybe. He licks at the head before taking it in his mouth and Bellamy groans, gently placing a hand back in Murphy’s hair. Murphy takes what he can in his mouth and pumps the rest with his hand, free hand holding on to the back of Bellamy’s thigh to stabilize him. Bellamy begins to pet his hair again, and the slow rhythm added onto Bellamy’s voice from above sends his mind back into that hazy state.

“Fuck, Murph, there you go...hah, yeah, there, so pretty, there you go, ngh-oh“ Bellamy rambles as Murphy sucks him off, cradling his jaw with his other hand and letting his thumb rest at the edge of his mouth, feeling his dick sliding in and out wetly between Murphy’s lips. He hits the back of Murphy’s mouth and Murphy makes a small gagging noise, and Bellamy decides he likes that so he does it again. His hand tightens in Murphy’s hair.

“Look at that, so easy, huh? You just needed a different kind of discipline,” Bellamy rumbles. Murphy’s hand leaves his cock, resting it mirrored to the other one on Bellamy’s thigh, and begins to use just his mouth, bobbing his head up and down more enthusiastically. “All you’re fucking good for, hm, Murph? You like it when I fuck your mouth?” Bellamy starts to move his hips more, holding Murphy’s head steady with a constant grip. Murphy chokes when he feels it enter his throat and Bellamy pulls out, a long strand of drool connecting the tip of his hard dick to Murphy’s bottom lip.

Murphy gets his breath back and leans into Bellamy’s hand. “H...h-yeah,” he breathes, unable to keep the moan out of his voice.

“‘Yeah’ what, Murphy? You too stupid now to use your words?” Bellamy slaps his face, not using the full force of his arm but still rough enough to leave his cheek red.

Murphy’s really spinning now, head feeling light and every single nerve ending tuned to where Bellamy’s hand connected with his skin. Bellamy lets go of his hair to slap the other side of his face, and Murphy whines.

“C’mon, tell me. You like it when I own you like this? You want me to cum down your throat, you fucking whore?” Bellamy’s pumping himself with one hand now, bicep flexing taut with each stroke.

“Please Bell, I want-“ Murphy’s cut off by another slap to his face, harsher this time, putting him off balance and making him fall onto the ground with the impact. Bellamy doesn’t move to help him, just watches as Murphy struggles to right himself.

“Don’t think for a second just because I’m letting you suck me off you can get casual with me, fucking faggot,” Bellamy derides. Murphy’s so hard now he could cum on a hair trigger.

Murphy’s upright, back on his knees. He speaks in a ramble, “Please sir, I like it, please I want you so bad,” placing the palm of his hand onto the front of his pants and grinding against it.

Bellamy ignores what Murphy’s doing and focuses on what he’s saying. “You like what, Murph? Don’t be stupid.”

Murphy groans. “I-I like it when you hit me, I like-like your cock in my mouth, I like...” He trails off, Bellamy’s running his fingers through his hair again, he’s shaking at even the slightest attention and he can’t string even two thoughts together.

“Yeah, Murph? You like being my bitch?” Bellamy growls. “You like it when I fuck your mouth? You want me to?”

“Yea-yes sir, pleaseplease oh my god fuck my throat with your cock, so fucking big,” Murphy breathes, opening his mouth to let Bellamy guide his dick inside. His grip on Murphy’s hair was brutal now, other hand grasping the side of his neck where it meets the base of his skull, thumb stroking his sore jaw.

Bellamy starts to rock his hips. Murphy’s only focus now is to let his dick slide deeper, into his throat. He gags lightly but doesn’t choke. Bellamy pushes that much further and then Murphy’s at the base of his cock, nose pushing into the dark hair there.

“Oh, there you fucking go, perfect, so tight,” Bellamy moans, stopping his motion to let Murphy adjust. After a moment he pulls out, Murphy taking a ragged breath, then pushes all the way back in, fucking his mouth. Slowly, his pace starts to increase.

“You’re such a fucking slut, you know that? On your knees for the first guy who asks.” Bellamy’s breath starts to come unevenly. “I bet you’d bend over for me too, huh? Just want someone inside you, doesn’t matter how.” Murphy groans around Bellamy’s dick. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Split you open on my cock? You’re so fucking pathetic.” Bellamy starts to pump faster, hips stuttering. “F-you’re so fucking tight...just a fucking whore, shit, ah-I’m gonna come-“ Bellamy buries himself in Murphy’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat with ropes of cum, so deep that Murphy doesn’t even taste it. After a moment he pulls out, Murphy coughing and taking a rasping breath. He spits onto the ground and massages his jaw.

Bellamy puts his dick away, then pulls Murphy up and pins him against the wall, unzipping his trousers. There’s a wet spot on the front of his boxers, and Murphy whines when he takes out his dick.

“You wanna cum, Murph? You’re fucking dripping,” Bellamy offers lowly.

“Fuck, yes, please,” Murphy replies, and then Bellamy’s jacking him off, pausing to spit into his hand before continuing at a rapid pace.

“So hard just from sucking dick, what a slut,” Bellamy murmurs, the slick sound of his hand filling the room. “You act so tough when you’re really just a submissive bitch, just waiting to roll over for anyone who wants to get his rocks off.” Murphy’s nearly panting now, hips bucking, mind blank. “I fucking own you now, you know that? If you even think of letting anyone else touch you I’ll fucking kill them.” Bellamy leans closer to Murphy’s ear. “Because that’s all you want, huh? I’m gonna fuck you open until you can’t walk. You-“

“Fffuck, shit Bell-sir, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-” Murphy gasps, voice wrecked.

“Come on then, Murph, come for me,” Bellamy murmurs.

Murphy’s breath hitches and he comes into Bellamy’s hand, some hitting the hem of his shirt as he moans, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Bellamy pumps him until he winces and pulls away, oversensitive and fucked out.

“H-hah, shit, Bellamy...” Murphy trails off, breathing heavily, shaking from the aftershock of coming.

Bellamy wipes his palm on Murphy’s shirt and straightens up, stretching his arm and readjusting his belt. He puts his hand on Murphy’s shoulder and leans in closely.

“Good job.” His breath is hot on Murphy’s neck. He pats Murphy’s shoulder and moves to leave.

“Bellamy,” Murphy’s voice is gravelly, and Bellamy pauses at the door.

“Thank you,” Murphy swallows, “Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, comments/critique/kudos are always appreciated! If a request is good I might even write a sequel or smth. Tell me what you think :)
> 
> Please do not repost my work anywhere without my knowledge+consent


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